Page 50 of Snatched By the Sandman

“I was never allowed to have a dog,” she says with a wistfulness in her eyes, and I get a sense of a nightmare in her past, but it’s quickly replaced by her laughter when one dog pounces on her, paws on her chest.

“So, what are you?” She looks up at me, kneeling while ruffling the dog’s head and scratching his ears. “Goddess of Hounds or something?”

Amusement ripples through me, and I crook my lips into a smile. “I am the Goddess of Magic and Witchcraft.” I hint, testing this little mortal’s knowledge.

Judging by how her jaw drops, and her brows soar to their ceilings, she knows exactly who I am.

It only strengthens my desire to imagine what her beautiful tattooed tapestry of a body would look like nude and dancing around my fires.

“Oh, my word, you’re her? Really her?” she practically swoons, her whole body turning to me. “You’re Hecate?”

My growing smile is confirmation.

“Do I need to bow lower and kiss your feet or something?” She flings strands of her hair away from her cheeks.

“If that is your fetish, far be it from me to deny you,” I quip, conjuring my torchlight flames and playing with the dancing light while Zenya fawns over me.

“Well, I left my knee pads at home.” Her eyes twinkle with her lashes lowering. “But I might consider a moreprivateworship ceremony.”

Oh, that little vixen is certainly flirting with me. How delightful that my theories are confirmed.

“First, let us spare your poor knees.” I wink and lower my palm to help her up, glancing at her bare feet. Neither dainty nor large. Her lean legs and arms show her penchant for climbing and hiking. Were it not for all her tattoos and purple hair, Zenya could be considered average, but she has made it her mission in life to stand out.

Her heart and spirit are by no meansaverage.

More desire burns in me when she coyly tucks a strand of hair behind her ear before fidgeting with her fingers. I imagine she is not so shy with the dream daemons. While she may be more submissive and allow them to dominate her, she feels safe enough to be shy with me, and I’ll take that as a compliment.

Growing my claws to test this little mortal further, I cup her chin—pressing the tips enough for her to feel discomfort but not to break the skin. “Hmm…no works of art to honor this worthy palette?” I turn her face slightly from side to side.

Her blush deepens, and Zenya swallows to say, “Perhaps I haven’t found a worthy one yet.”

“We shall change that tonight.” I touch the pad of my thumb to her lower lip, appreciating her quick intake of breath.

“Tonight?”

“Mmm…” I nod and rub that lower lip as she parts them, the heat of her breath curling along my fingers. “It seems Morpheus will be a little busy handling the temporal storm if you’d care to take a walk with me, Zenya.”

A lovely flush blooms along her upper chest, and I sense her blood growing warmer from my touch. My appetite intensifies, growing into a hunger. Such passion, a zest for life, abounds within Zenya, but a deep reverence and appreciation for the black things of this world. She wears the demons in her mind upon her flesh. She doesn’t hide from them. Just as she hides from none of us.

But oh, how I will enjoy seeing her on her back and spread for me!

“A walk sounds nice. But where?” She looks around.

I drop my hand from her mouth but tap her nose. “Anywhere you desire, dream weaver.”

“Are you sure you’re ready to fulfill all my desires, Hecate?”

With a chuckle, I trace a solitary claw along the black, lustrous serpent ink swirling along her arm, another of my symbols. “I am a Goddess. Fulfilling the strongest of desires is my specialty. If yours prove to be a flame, dear Zenya, I will happily fan the fire.”

“And Morpheus…?”

I wave a dismissive hand. “Not to fret. I’ll return you to him in one piece.” Provided I get to enjoy all of her pieces first.

Some might think Goddesses are full of never-ending lust. But in reality, we are simply bored. I am far less bored than many, given my gifts, but this dream weaver is proving to bean intriguing diversion with a sparkle of magic in her veins. Nothing I love more.

Zenya locks eyes with me. And grins like a mad, sweet wanderer.

“Color me impressed, little weaver. I sincerely approve,” I praise Zenya.

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